Alternative Options
by InterestinglySherlock
Summary: What if Bruce Wayne succeeded in his attempt to kill Joe Chill? An AU story, combines a bit of comicverse with movieverse. Ahh...the power of 'What if'... Reviews are most welcome, thank you dearly.
1. Chapter 1

**Alternative Options**

An AU story--What if Bruce Wayne had succeeded in his attempt to kill Joe Chill? (Combines movieverse with a bit of comicsverse.)  
I love "What if" type stories, and yeah, don't kill me for blaspheming the Bat, okay? XD It's just something I wanted to explore. So thus...it is explored...Perhaps there's no escaping destiny after all, in the end. Wink

Disclaimers: I don't own Bruce or Batman. I shall have to ask Selina to steal them both for me someday, as long as she doesn't keep them for herself.  
All the Bat-related stuff belongs to DC. The cops are mine. Sadly, I really don't have a good grasp of their hierarchy/chain of command so I just opted for the 'Lieutenant' and the 'Detective,' hoping it sounds like I know what I'm talking about. And it probably doesn't...

There were lights. And loud noises. Flashing lights, people chattering, yammering at one another, bodies all congregating around one person, microphones pushed up against faces and the pleading eyes of a reporter wanting to make his big break.

The police escort, with impassive eyes, simply dragged the one person through the melee, though the crowd simply followed along like an amoeba.

"Joe! Joe Chill, what do you think? Are you glad you're a free man?"

Cold eyes fell upon the small frame of the murderer. They were brown eyes, ones that could be soft and cheerful. They hadn't been that way for more than a decade now. Nothing of the old was left in them, now all was the icy hardness that had finally consumed the man within. He wasn't old at all, but what he endured aged him considerably. The equally cold metal of the gun within his hand felt as impassive as he was, and his eyes widened, knowing that this was the moment. It was now. Not never.

He felt his throat go dry, seeing his task before him. The man, the man in the middle of the media circus was responsible for ruining his life. Killing the two people who were most dear to him in the entire world. He was responsible for making a little boy wonder why the world treated him so. He may have killed his parents, but he had also killed off the hopes and dreams of one little boy.

He hid the gun up his sleeve a bit, just in case. He had to get close without the massive police force seeing his intentions. The shouts and calls of the reporters grew nearer with each step. His hands started to shake a bit, not in fear, but in rage. His eyes grew even wider. The small man with the scruffy hair was now clearly visible.

"Joe Chill," was all he said before he stretched out his arm in front of him.

"What the—"

BAAAANG!

The shot reverberated and half the people behind them flew backwards as the body of the criminal collapsed. The police were in a frenzy as the looked around frantically for the perpetrator, but the man in the tan coat was fast on his feet and he flew past the reporters with not even a second to spare.

"Who was that?" A reporter shrieked.

"Bruce Wayne!"

He ran, ran faster than he ever thought was possible, knowing that it was a miracle indeed that the police hadn't caught him as soon as he did it. He was half-expecting that they would. Was he prepared to go to jail for the horror that he just did? That was barely on his mind, as shots flew off behind him. The police were catching up—they would soon tackle him and it would be the end of it, he did not want to shoot back at them.

A maintenance stairway to the roof—no, it would cut off his escape. What could he do, fly off the roof?

A side door to an alleyway. Bruce took it, slamming his body into the door and it opened. His feet pounded the pavement as he raced towards the back alleys, hearing the wail of sirens behind him. He could lose them if he could just get to the Narrows, or even one of the slummier parts. His breath came in short gasps; he was trying to calm himself down at the same time. It wasn't helpful if one's emotions were spiraling out of control; he had been trained in various martial arts at college and knew how to control his movements. It hadn't been much more than a passing interest to him, but he found that he liked being able to fight back.

There were more and more homeless people in sight in the dank alleyways between the old buildings, and he knew he was getting to a safer haven, if that could be called one. He had been running in a weaving pattern of alleyways, not even daring to come out on a busy street. The walls were scrawled with gang tags and the smell of sewage was wafting up from the very concrete itself. He slowed down, the sound of sirens fading, the footsteps he had heard behind him of police had faded and their shouts turned to silence.

He looked at a particularly nasty edifice that was seemingly being held up by nothing more than sludge itself, and he took off his fine tan coat and threw it into a pile of dirty clothes that was resting on the side of a dumpster. He knew that in fact it was some old homeless person sleeping.

Bruce entered the crud-covered building and found an ancient room that was not occupied by a vagrant. There was a few old pieces of furniture, a chair and a moldy sofa, but he didn't care and collapsed in it, a horrid stink rising up out of the decrepit cloth.

He buried his head within his hands, feeling the tears come through his clenched fingers. It was supposed to feel good; he was supposed to feel happy, that his parents had finally been avenged.

He did feel satisfied in a way, but there was a strange hollow feeling building up within him. It wasn't right, revenge was supposed to be sweet, wasn't it? Instead he simply felt deadened, knowing that he had taken a life. In cold blood. The same thing that happened to his parents. But this was all wrong; he wasn't supposed to feel sorry, or even sad. The sicko deserved it! He had ruined his life, he had taken his parents, and now he was taken himself. Deserved it. But there was still an insatiable greed within Bruce. Those who had let this madman run rampant also were at fault for his parents' death. The mob was at fault for bringing this kind of criminal activity to Gotham. It was silly, what was he gonna do? Blow everyone away that didn't capture the criminal before he could do more harm? It would never end if he didn't let it end now.

In another sense, Bruce felt that Chill had deserved more than just being killed like that, he deserved to rot in jail and deserved the Chair.

His life was even more ruined now by Chill, by the fact that Bruce was drove to this. He would never be able to go back home, ever. He would be doomed to live in this squalid fashion as a criminal himself or to be thrown in jail. Would this madness never end?

He punched the seat in anger, a growl rising out of him. It wasn't supposed to be this way! Somehow, he knew, this wasn't what was meant for him. But he had a choice, and he had taken it. He had planned it for so long and now he must accept the consequence.

At least one thing was at peace. His parents were avenged, avenged by their own blood, and there was something primeval about that that kind of stuck with him, poetic in a way. Chill got what he deserved.

But somehow, in doing so, he had ended up making his own life worse. This would haunt him for the rest of his life, and he knew it. It would never leave him. What was he doing, playing vigilante, anyway? He got up, pacing back and forth, listening for sirens or sounds that he was found. The many homeless would no doubt recognize a young man with clothing like his running around where he shouldn't. He had no idea how to survive in a world like this, and he knew he wouldn't until he got some plans into place.

How would Alfred take this? He wasn't sure if he could ever face the old man ever again. His face was plastered all over television by now, cameras everywhere had most undoubtedly caught that one horrible moment. First things first. What was that they always said? Find shelter, find food. He had to be mobile, he knew that, the police were everywhere and his face was very recognizable. He needed a mask. Bruce took one more look outside through a cracked window at the fast fading twilight, before heading out to begin his new life.


	2. Chapter 2

"Yeah, Lieutenant Barker, just shot him! I was right there; it would be funny if it wasn't so tragic. I mean, I really don't blame him, considering what the kid's been through."

"Me neither, but we gotta bring him in." The detective took a sip of his coffee cup, grimacing as its bitter taste stuck in his mouth. "Ten years. It's amazing the kid lasted that long without getting' killed or caught. At least, no one found his body yet. Prob'bly joined the mob to get protection."

"Sad, really," Lieutenant Barker kicked a piece of trash off of the sidewalk as he and his partner walked through the seedy neighborhood, on the lookout for informants. "I mean the kid has his whole life ahead of him and then—boom, it's gone. Makes you think, don't it?"

"Yeah, in a way," the detective took another gulp of the strong brew.

"I feel really sorry for him. I mean the guy did kill his parents, if this was some kinda…I dunno, the middle ages, nobody would care that Wayne offed him."

"Yeah, that is weird. But this ain't the middle ages, after all. Vendettas are frowned upon nowadays. What can you do?"

"Chill had it comin' to him anyway. Remember Carmine Falcone? He had a hit out for Chill that very day. The chick that was supposed to do it had it like…missed the bus or somethin' and was half a minute late."

The lieutenant laughed. "Ah well. That's life, ain't it? I can't believe we still haven't found ol' Wayne yet. He ran like the wind back there, I was really surprised. I woulda thought th' city woulda ate him up and spat him back out by now. Kid had resources, that's fer sure, and I don't mean the money kind."

The two police officers laughed and continued their patrol down the dirty street, not noticing the dark figure near the telephone booth, listening in on their conversation. A hand reached out and grabbed the heftier lieutenant's neck, and a swift kick to the back of the detective's legs brought them both down. The coffee cup went flying, black liquid splashing against the cracked sidewalk. He dragged them into a putrid alleyway, and a growling voice addressed them.

"What did you say about _Chill_?"

The policemen's eyes opened up wide. They had heard of the legend, but had never seen it with their own eyes. A dark figure that often preyed on those who preyed on the innocent, someone who saved the lives of everyday citizens and gave hope to a Gotham that needed it.

"Batman!" They both said in unison.

"Tell me!" He was often rough even with his own allies, and they knew not to wait another second.

"Falcone…the old mob boss…remember Chill was in the joint with him, he was gonna rat him out or somethin', and Falcone put out a hit for him. But Wayne finished the job first. Falcone shouda thanked the kid, if you asked me…"

They winced in the darkness, trying to see the figure, but it was nearly impossible. The streetlights were all out, they hadn't been in use for years.

The growl came again. "You lie."

The detective shook his head.

"No man, he ain't lyin," Lieutenant Barker finally spoke up. "It's just not in any of the city records…they could never really prove it, but all us cops know the truth…" The man's voice was cut off as a hand gripped his throat.

"You're lying."

"Noo!" A gasp came out, strangled. "Nooo—"

He was released, and he fell back against the ground.

"If I find out both of you were deceiving me, I'll be back to finish it," came the strange deep voice, out of the shadows in front of them.

The detective and the lieutenant looked at each other once, and then found the courage to draw their weapons. But there was no one in front of them to fire at. The Batman had simply disappeared.

They didn't notice the dark figure swinging across the rooftops above them, contemplating the fact that if he had just waited…just waited a moment more, he might have the kind of life that he had now. He would be free of this burden…he would not be Batman.

Or was that his destiny? Was there no escaping something like that?

"Well, that's a story to tell to the grandkids," Barker whistled as he got up from the ground. "You know, once I have kids to have grandkids. Too bad we didn't get a good look at him, some say he looks like a real bat and all…"

"Wonder why he was so obsessed over Chill?" The detective raised an eyebrow, as he placed his weapon back in its holster. He felt a bit sheepish, they were both armed and yet they had let themselves be bullied by an urban legend. He had to be a man, right? "You know, they never ever found Bruce Wayne, he's presumed dead. I never believed it."

"You don't think that idiot kid could become that scary figure of vengeance that we just saw?" Barker looked almost nervous. "Could he?"

"Nah," they both laughed.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a rough ten years.

Ever since that fateful day, Bruce knew that he now belonged to the night. He would never be able to face the light of day again, his face was too well known and he would need someway to disguise himself or at least get out of the country. Something made him stay, however, and that was his own guilt.

He felt that he was obligated to pay back for what he had done, and he found his repentance in an odd way. On the third night of his new life, he was walking down by one of Gotham's innumerable bad neighborhoods, checking it out and seeing if there was someplace he could hide, when he saw a gang of men attacking an old lady. An old lady, she was probably seventy and they were attacking her. Bruce's blood boiled and he knew he couldn't let that lady just get killed like that, not when he could fight back for her. But they would recognize him instantly. He looked around frantically, before he tore off a piece of his shirt and wrapped it around his nose and mouth, so only his eyes were visible.

He was a good martial artist; he knew that, he was well versed in Aikido, Jujitsu, Judo, and everything in between.

"Who's this little man?" One of the leather-clad gang members sneered, his shaved head glittering with sweat in the twilight. (Bruce wasn't little, either; he was 6'2".) The old woman groaned and sobbed and begged for mercy.

There were no words, Bruce simply jumped into the fight and had taken them all down pretty easily, though he had to disarm a gun or two.

Never again would he use a gun. Never again would he even touch one if he had the choice.

He was rusty, he had been lacking in his training for a bit during his studies and he knew that he ought to get some practice in. Thug-busting, perhaps? It was good practice, there were tons of incidences like these every day, he thought as he helped the crying old woman up, her thanks warming his cold demeanor just a bit. He was still young, after all. Bruce felt somehow, deep within, that perhaps this was a way of making up for his own crime that he had committed. He had chosen to play the part of the executioner, and he regretted it ever since. It would have been so different if Chill had been executed the right way, too. Been tried and judged by the system. Even so, he admitted it darkly to himself that he wouldn't have minded if someone else had killed him. But never again would he himself have such a deadly vendetta.

As he helped the old woman up, he realized that this was a way to gain penance. He would help the people who couldn't help themselves against the criminals that caused them pain, the type of criminals that had caused his own pain. He would turn fear on those who preyed on the fearful. Even with a million people saved, he knew that he wouldn't ever erase that hollow feeling within him. But it helped. It helped a lot.

He knew now that he had to take the law into his own hands, to help these people. He had done it once before, and had gotten away with it. That, in itself, was interesting. Why had he gotten away? Luck? Or perhaps the officers around him, chasing him let him go? Because they felt sorry for him? It was something to muse on, but perhaps he would never find the answer.

That morning, as he had worked throughout the entire night doing this new duty of his, came with a different sort of glow. He felt lightened, though still the weight of his deed pressed down on him, just as his parents' deaths pressed down on him. The latter was much lighter, though, because of what had happened, of course. At least that could be lifted of him. But the heaviness would never end, it seemed. That was the price of taking away the former pain. Either way, somehow perhaps in another life, maybe he was destined to do this sort of thing, even if he had not killed Chill. It was a strange thought, and he dismissed it as quickly as it had come.

He climbed into the abandoned apartment, one that was only accessible by scaling the brick walls itself, the inside stairs long have been rotten and there was no fire escape. It was warm inside, he had found an old electric heater and generator tossed out in the garbage and had fixed it up. It was amazing what people threw out. He had food, water (though not running, unfortunately), and a little bit of money when he risked the atm. The police had of course flooded the area as soon as he had left, but there was no hold on his account, perhaps Alfred had given him one last chance. An oddly large amount of money. Must've been Alfred. A last gift.

There was no way to try the trick without getting caught again, but at least he had something. Enough for food, anyway. He wasn't a criminal by heart, and he hated the thought of holding up a grocery store or something. In the days to come, he would often pay the little orphans that ran around the streets to get items for him. It kept them from pick pocketing and got themselves a bite to eat as well.

He took off the simple rag mask, and threw it on the rickety wooden floor, knowing that something more was needed. Bruce found that he really wanted to do this, and he paced the floor, thinking. A full mask, perhaps, a costume even. Without warning, as the sunlight from the dawn began to light up the little room, a thousand bats flew into the apartment building from all the cracks and crannies and little holes throughout the place, and Bruce was awash in a flurry of bats. He immediately yelled and cringed, he had a fear of bats from falling into that well when he was a kid, but there was something different this time. He wasn't all that afraid anymore. He had to deal with worse. How could he be scared of little animals?

Bruce bit his lip nervously, peeking an eye open as the last of the bats flew through the various holes in the structure. They apparently lived in the abandoned apartment; it was amazing such animals could thrive in a city like this. Hmm…bats were frightening to him; he wondered vaguely how frightening they were to others.

He gazed out the broken window, looking out at the decrepit-ness before him. He smirked ironically. How different this was from the manor. He was so used to having everything; he had no idea what it was like for 'the other side'. It was a very humbling experience. He had to scrape and scratch and evade the police and just barely survive. Once he got his feet, however, he knew without knowing that it would get better, he would get used to it. On some level, Bruce realized how immature he had been before, and a gunshot had changed all of that. As a shot ended his childhood, another shot ended his former life as well.

Barker looked blearily through the window of the unmarked police cruiser as they staked out a well-to-do townhouse on the nicest side of town. Mob activity, to say the least. He had taken up Detective Louis's coffee drinking habit and he downed them on the hour almost religiously.

"Hey…hey, Detective!"

"What?" Louis had been sleeping and he looked angry as he gazed around the dark cruiser. "What's happening? Did you see 'em?"

"No, I was gonna ask you if you had any gum, I finished my coffee and…"

There was a brotherly smack to the head. "I toldja not to wake me up unless you see something!"

"You're gettin' paid for this job too," Barker said sulkily. His gaze turned back to the fine brick townhouse. "Wait—I'm not kiddin' this time. There's some activity on the roof."

"The _roof_? What'd they do, hire roofing repairmen at 11 pm?" The detective sat back up in his seat, his eyes squinting, though there was ample light in this neighborhood. Oddly enough, he preferred it back in the slums, he felt out of place in this rich-y area.

"I dunno, but there's definitely someone up there," Barker stared. "See! There's his foot, right there! You wanna check it out?"

"Not yet. Could be one of Vittorio's men. This type of unmarked car hasn't been used yet, but they might be suspicious. Try not to look like a cop yet."

"As opposed to _what?_"

"Vittorio don't clothe his men in capes, do he?"

"_What_?"

"Cuz that guy up there has a cape."

They looked at each other with an almost childlike excitement.

"It's Batman!"

There was a _thud_ as something embedded itself in the hood of their car. For one horrible panicked second, they both thought it was silenced gunfire.

"What is that?" Louis got out of the car and inspected the object. "It's like…some kind of Bat…shuriken or something."

"What, a ninja star?"

"Naw, look—there's a note attached to it," the detective got back into the car, hoping that no one had seen him. He was wearing plainclothes, they both were, but being paranoid often saved one's life at times like these. He unwrapped the little piece of paper stuck to the strange bat-object and he read it out loud. "Detective, Lieutenant, I require your services tonight and we will bring in Vittorio. Meet me at the diner two blocks down."

"Should we do it?" Barker was itching to go, like a kid would. Batman was a celebrity in his own right.

"He hasn't let no one down before," Detective Louis admitted. "He's always been on our side, no matter what people say about taking the law into his own hands. And he always gets his man. I say we do it."

The car backed out as quietly as possible from its position and made its way towards the little diner.

It was an odd sight, to say the least, to see the dark figure sitting in a booth like he was a regular customer. Both policemen tried to conceal a gasp as they saw the costume for the first time. It was leather, or something like it, all done up with large stitches. Almost on purpose, perhaps it was a stylistic thing rather than a bad sowing job. His face was nearly covered by the cowl, only his mouth showed. It was a hard-edged mouth, one that had seen scars and it was slightly covered in stubble, as if he had been working so long he forgot to shave. His eyes were barely visible through the cowl, but they were cold eyes, and revealed nothing but their color.

The cape was also that strange patchwork job, it was the same material but it was all sewed together in that weird stitch pattern. The two policemen wondered silently if the shapes of the muscles showing through the fabric was part of some kind of armor—or if the leather was simply the only thing protecting him. A crude bat-design was on his chest. He had very nice gauntlets, however, the only thing that wasn't scruffy about him, they were made of metal and had intricate swirling designs on them. Looked almost Asian, the designs did. Louis had been to the region once in his life (Osaka, once, and Seoul) and wondered perhaps if the Batman had managed to leave Gotham and train somewhere there at ninjitsu, and that was why he was so incredibly good at what he did.

"Sit," the man said, his voice still as creepy as they remembered it last, and they sat across from him in the booth.

"So," Barker tried to break the ice with his easy-going personality. "What's the plan, Batman?"

"You tell me."

"Uh…" he tried to find his words. "We're stakin' out the place until we can get a clear view of Vittorio handing over the money to Rige's people. Then we can move in."

"You're not going to see that from the outside of the townhouse."

"Yeah, well, we can't exactly get inside it now, can we? The door has to open sometime, and uh…"

"We're going to lure them out. When they bring out their weapons, that's already a charge against them. I'll take care of Vittorio. He'll be delivered unharmed."

"Why are we in a diner?" Louis finally spoke.

Batman's eyes glared at him. "Because Vittorio's men has the entire neighborhood covered. We can't be seen outside. They won't expect Batman in a diner, it's too obvious. In that case it's the best choice. Do I have to explain myself anymore to you, Detective? Would you like to tell me what to do now? Do you want my help still? Because I can finish this on my own. I _chose_ to include you two in this."

"_Fine_," Louis was beginning to dislike the man's attitude. Here, in the bright lights of the diner, the mystique of the figure was beginning to fade away. All that was left was a strange, beat-up costume and the lunatic inside. Perhaps that's why the waitress hadn't come round yet.

"Fine, oh Mister all-powerful Batman sir, we'll do whatever you tell us to 'cause you're a cooler kid than us. Don't forget, Bats, we're not exactly on the same side. We got orders to bring you in, and a lot of us over look that because of all the good that you do. So it's _us_ that choose to work with _you_, got it?"

The sneer on his face was nearly as menacing as his presence. "So bring me in, Detective. You'll get props for that one."

"What is your problem, anyway?" Barker tried to speak up for his friend. He admired Batman greatly, but they couldn't afford to be arguing like this when they needed work to be done. "Both of you? We're on the same side right now, we're going after the same guy."

"Yeah, as long as this one don't _off_ Vittorio. He's probably paid by some rival gang."

The words that came out were low, and growled. "I. Don't. _Kill_."

"Oh yeah?" Louis said, but his argument was deflated, now. It hadn't been proven, of course, but there had been reports that despite his methods and violence, the ones that the Batman had brought in were always alive and well. Not uninjured, but alive, at least. It was something he had been wondering for a long time, and there were pieces beginning to come together in his mind. He wasn't a detective for nothing. 

"Why _don't_ you kill, Mr. Bats? What's stoppin' ya? You're not really on our side, you work outside the law. No policeman can catch you. You're free and clear."

"I _choose_ not to kill, Detective _Louis_," Batman snarled even worse this time, like an animal.

"Or because you did once before, and are making up for it with all the good that you do now?"

Louis half expected a punch to be heading towards his face right now, but instead, the masked man looked deflated. Or simply sad. Perhaps he had hit a nerve too deep.

"Look, I'm not saying who you are and who you aren't, though me and Barker here got a pretty good idea. That man's dead, disappeared, and nobody's sayin' nothin' about him. But we do admire ya, Bats, we really do. You're one crazy guy, but a good kinda crazy. None of the police'll ever bring you, you've done so much fer us already. There ain't nobody in this world lookin' out for anybody else, and you've saved countless lives. So if there is somethin' you did back then that you feel bad for, don't be. You've more than made up for it. Who's to say the jerk didn't deserve to be knocked off anyway? Heh…" He winced, half expecting another punch.

Instead, Batman simply sat there, staring at him.

Louis licked his lips, his mouth becoming dry, not sure what he just did to the vigilante. "Um…so anyway…" He wondered just what sort of life this man had now. He was pretty sure he was Wayne, his silence confirmed it, but there was not much else he could do with that information, except feel sorry for him. What kind of life did he _have_? Living entirely to save others, saving people 24/7, his entire life devoted to it? At least Louis could take a day off. And what about back then…a rich kid sent to the streets? Amazing he lived. He'd personally never cart him off to jail, he'd been punished enough. What was tying him back to reality, back to humanity? What kept him from falling within the monster of the Bat itself?

"So uh…it dies with us, right Barker?"

"Oh absolutely," Barker must've been thinking the same thing because his eyes shined with hero-worship. "Absolutely. Not tellin' nothin'."

"It doesn't matter," Batman said, his voice softer and more real. The voice of the man that had once lived underneath the cowl. "He's gone. He's been gone since that day."

"Nah, he ain't gone," Louis offered a smile. "He's just a better person, that's all. Now, what say you and me and Barker get our man, huh?"

He wouldn't admit it, of course, but there was just the faint ghost of a smile beneath the dark cowl. It was gone within a second. But it was there, all the same. Barker and Louis grinned in return.

"Come on, Batsy, you can scare these guys all you want. I always get a kick outta that."

The three men left the little diner, much to the relief of the workers within. One was thinking just what he was going to tell the wife about one happened, one was musing over the revelations and how much he admired and pitied the man in front of him and the last one was finally coming to terms with the events that birthed him.

Yes, it was a sad life; he knew it and he did not care. But what the detective said to him had a profound effect. No, he would not give up this cause. There was no way he would ever be free of it. But for the first time in years, he felt a little more at peace. And that meant the entire world to him…to Bruce Wayne.

Louis stole a glance at him, afraid he would simply vanish into the night once more, after they learned so much about this secretive figure it would really be a shame. He wondered vaguely how he survived on his own. If he really was Wayne, then perhaps the butler, who inherited the estate after the kid disappeared, was still helping him somehow. Perhaps that was his tie back to reality. There had been rumors of caves beneath the manor, caves that housed bats in the millions…he wouldn't that crazy to live down there, would he? The manor was empty, the butler didn't even live there anymore, no one did…"So do you really work alone, Batman?"

There was the sound of a cape, and the _ker-plop_ of weight hitting the ground behind him. The two policemen turned around and in shock, they saw a young man…a boy, really, in a red and green costume, bright against the darkness, with a smirk on his cheerful face, contrasting much to the grim demeanor of the partner.

"No. I don't work alone."

The End


End file.
